Cold Shower
by Basco57
Summary: Spencer has one of those days. Spam themes - my first attempt, so definitely R&R! Whoa, this is also my first time ever writing the pairing in the summary...crazy stuff, man.


**A/N: I know I should be updating whatever my other story is called, but I just had to write this one first. **

**I don't even know where this came from, or how good it's going to be. A) Because it's my first even remotely Spam themed fic. B) It only took me, like, fifteen minutes to write. So it wasn't too terribly thought out, I'll warn you. But I think it's pretty fun, amusing in the least. And I do love writing a good Spencer POV on occasion. Oh, and don't be scared off by the long, daunting opening paragraph. That was just me channeling Spencer. Alrighty, enjoy.**

**Oh, and for my own enjoyment, I'm going to consider this a songfic to the Ignition remix by R Kelly. Heh...yeah...You'll see.  
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It's just one of those days, ya know? One of those days where you are walkin' down the street, then you step on a piece of gum. Right, and then you lean against a park bench to keep your balance while you try to pick the gum off your shoe with a spork you found on the ground earlier. What? I collect them! Anyhoo, then you finally get the gum off, but not before you've got about half of it in your hair, and when you step away from the bench is when you finally notice the white 'wet paint' sign next to it. Great. So now your butt is Clearspring Green (according to a reliable paint can sitting next to the sign), and your new spork needs to be polished before being added to your collection, AND you've got gum in your hair. Right, well, then you're trying to get the gum out of your hair with a the surprisingly sharp plastic sword in the equipped a little action figure/doll thing you just jacked out of the hand of a child passing by. Uh...I don't typically steal from children, but, you know, the hair is numero uno. You don't mess with the 'do. There are times when certain things need to be sacrificed (such as a child's joy) in order to carve a piece of gum out of shiny, brunet, shoulder length perfection.

But _then_ you find out that little whiny kid with the cool action figure has a father...a bald, six five, two hundred and fifty pound, tattooed, goateed father. The next thing you know, you've given the doll back, and you're in a dumpster. ...And now there's TWO pieces of gum in your beautiful hair. Right, so you understand why I'm in the mood to take a three day, steaming hot shower?

Anywhoozle, day three of my steaming hot shower comes way too quickly. Well, actually, I just smell something burning in the main room. I bet Carly is trying to cook something again. Dear God. Or maybe the pile of laundry I folded this morning burst into flames. You know, again.

I wrap a towel around my tail, then remember Sam is over, and pull on a pair of shorts before kiss my rubber duckie on the head (it's ritual after every shower, you know. Just helps me keep the balance of my life), and skip out to the living room, where I am suddenly overwhelmed by, well, quite a few things.

A) The realization that my laundry is not on fire. Good. We don't want a repeat of Thursday. Or Monday. Or that one Saturday. Or the day before. Or St. Patrick's day -- dear God. Or last weekend...You get it! Mix clean laundry with me, and you get spontaneous combustion.

B) There is some very loud music being pumped out of my stereo. The rafters are shaking, and the magazines on the coffee tables are vibrating to the beat of the of the song's bass. The lyrics, 'It's da remix to ignition. Hot 'n fresh out da kitchen. Mama rollin' dat body, got e'ry man in here wishin' ...something, something, 'it's da freakin' weekend, baby I'ma 'bout to have me some fun,' are being sung into my ears by a chocolaty voice (yeah, chocolaty is an adjective that can only be used to describe flavor, and R Kelly's vocal patterns).

C) The rafters aren't the only thing shaking to the beat. Holy guacamole, when did Sam learn how to dance? And I mean, like, _dance_. Like, from all of the random dancing I've seen in my day, I was under the impression that she can only throw her limbs about in way unimaginable to we mere humans...And now, well -- whoa.

Right, um, so let's get a few things laid straight here. I am a guy. Point taken? And as a guy, it is not unnatural to, er, notice things about girls, right? Of course. So after I, you know, notice what the backside of Sam up on my counter and under the influence of R Kelly looks like, I notice where my favorite pair of duckie boxers that I lost went.

"Uh, Sam, why are you wearing my lucky underwear?"

She turns suddenly, surprised to see someone else in the room, but not fazed. Not embarrassed, no, not Sam. That's not in her vocabulary. She plays it off like it's all cool that I walked in on her, still in her stirringly revealing pajamies, and slides off the counter, giving me a bored smirk. "Well, they were just lyin' on your couch, dude. I'd borrow from Carly, but she fancies panties." Sam laughs at her intentional rhyme, and that would usually be the sort of thing that I find hilarious too, but, man, there are other things I am being amused by now.

Wait, that came out wrong. Not amused. No, I-I'm just noting the fact that it's taken me this long to realize that Sam's not that annoying, fifteen-year-old kid who breaks into my apartment and eats all my food anymore. Well, she's still annoying, and she still breaks into my apartment and eats my food, but she's not fifteen. And it is suddenly apparent that she definitely not a kid. Nope, not a kid. Whoa. It takes me just getting out of the shower, still half naked, and walking in on Sam, also kinda half naked, dancing a bit on the promiscuous side on top of the island in the middle of my kitchen to a song by R Kelly to finally take in the fact that the last three years have done a lot of good to the now eighteen-year-old kiddo. Also known as the legal kiddo.

And now that we're sitting here making all of these realizations, I suddenly realize that I'm not looking at her face. So I quickly do so, and find that her bored smirk has been replaced contemptuous half-grin. "You've got some, uh, dribble..." Her voice dies off, and she just motions to the side of her mouth, still smiling.

I quickly swipe the back of my hand across my mouth, and, sure enough, I'm drooling. "Sorry." I say quickly. Too quickly. Her eyebrows raise, just slightly, and I know that she's inwardly suspicious. I cough once, then shift my weight, and try desperately to think of things that I would normally say to Sam. Something random and quircky that I might've said just yesterday, before I actually became, ya know, _aware_ of Sam.

"Uh..." I'm really struggling here, it's not hard to tell. I just hope that she doesn't figure out _why_ I'm struggling. But the way her cute lopsided smile still hasn't wavered in the slightest, and she's got her arms crossed, and hip tossed, I'm sure she knows the 'why' of things. And the real bummer is that she appears to be enjoying herself.

"It's alright, Spence," Sam coos lightly. She drums her fingers on her arm for a moment, then looks me up and down, then looks back at the stove, then back at me, then looks me up and down one more time. She appears to be arguing with herself inside, the way her eyes are shifting back and forth, and she's chewing on her lower lip. I can see the faintest of pinks cross her face, just for a moment, when she finally sighs conclusively. "Well, d'ya want some?" she asks, half raising both arms in the air.

Uh oh. Did Sam just ask if I want to... Uh, we'll use code for 'some'. How 'bout, er, scrabble! Sorry, I can't actually _say_ it. Not when the name in question is my little sister's best friend. I mean, this situation is already awkward. If I actually think or say it, then my subconscious thoughts surface, and things just get uncomfortable.

But, man, it's hard to keep things subconscious when Sam actually comes out and suggests it!

"Well...?"

"I, er, I dunno, Sam. This is kind of sudden."

She leans back against the marble counter, not bothering to cover any of her revealed midriff up. "Look, I know this isn't something that I would typically offer, but I guess I'm in the giving mood today."

I gulp. "The _giving_ mood."

"Yeah," Sam says, shrugging. "I dunno what's come over me, but all the sudden...I don't know. I can't explain it. Maybe I'm just growing up."

Scrabble is definitely a coming of age sort of thing, yes. "Uh, are you sure, Sam?"

She sighs, blowing a strand of loose hair out of her eyes. "Yes I'm sure. This is something I want to do, and I don't know why, but I really do." She's getting impatient with my hesitating. "Well?"

"Well, I...I mean yes, of course I want to...but, well, this probably isn't right...Are you sure you want this to be with me?"

"Yes! I've never made this kind of offer to anyone - not even Freddie! It just feels right with you." She looks me up and down again, then stares at me, bored but penetrating. "Well, I did once. Just a little bit though, with Carly."

"Wh-wait. My _sister_?"

Sam sighs in exasperation, impatience, readyness. "You're gonna have to get it while it's hot."

I shake my head, clearing all thoughts of my little sister. "Right, yeah, 'course. Uh...where? Here?"

"Isn't the kitchen where this type of thing typically goes down?"

"Er, sometimes. I suppose. Where's Carly?" I ask hurriedly.

"Oh, she got up real early this morning and went in to school for some shit...I dunno. That's why I never joined student council. Going to school on weekends - insanity!"

"Okay," I hasten, "And Freddie."

"I dunno," Sam says, shrugging. "Prolly wetting his bed. Who cares? It's not like I'ma call him up or anything. He's not worthy of my warm, meaty goodness." Whoa...well, for some reason I'm not surprised that Sam would describe her, uh, scrabble in terms of meat...and now I'm seriously craving the ham that's filling my nostrils.

"Alright, Sam," I start, thanking my lucky stars that this girl is finally eighteen. "You sure?"

"Yes! Now stop questioning me, before I change my mind!" she threatens, sliding back up onto the counter top.

"Okay, okay. Uh...maybe we should take this to the couch, or my room or something. I don't want to - you know - make a mess."

"Aww, we'll just use plates."

"Okay. Wait, huh? Plates?"

"Durr," Sam says. Then there's a small 'briiing', and she perks up, then hops off the counter, and glides over to the oven. She slips on my favorite pair of cow puppet oven mitts, then opens the oven. And at this point I still haven't lost all hope. That is, until she pulls out the glazed, steaming hot slab of ham in a seering metal pot. It's smoking lightly as she sets it down on the counter, waving the mitts through the steam, blowing on it with controlled force. And it doesn't come as a big surprise to me that I can't desipher wich ready platter in front of me my mouth is watering for.

"Wait, so...ham?"

"If Mama's actually going to waste her time cooking, what would it be other than ham?" she asks reasonably, taking a carving knife and carefully slicing a thin piece off the end of the pig butt.

"True, but, uh..."

"Hmm?"

"Do you feel, like, an ungodly amount of tension in the room, and maybe the urge to do something that you probably really shouldn't do right about now."

"Mmm...nope. Want some?"

"Yes." I'm a bit put off when she hands me a plate of sliced ham.

And then, the fact that I'm forever going to be turned on by the smell of ham weighing down on me with every step, I slouch back to the bathroom. A cold shower could probably do me some good right about now.

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Heh, damn. That was easier than I thought. Do I feel bad for turning Spencer on and the completely shutting him down? Maybe. Is it totally worth giving away one piece of ham to see the confusion and discomfort that I just witnessed displayed by another human being? Yes. Poor Spence...He still hasn't caught on. His water bill must be singing with the sopranos these days with as often as I have him taking two to three showers a day. Mmm, ham. Excuse me while I indulge.

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**A/N: Just couldn't write Spencer coming out and saying 'sex' just like I can't make him swear. I figured 'scrabble' is an amusing alternative. That being 'turned on by the smell of ham' thing I used in one of my other one shots somewheres, but I just thought it fit so much better with Spam, and I couldn't get it out of my head, and thus this was born. I don't really know how to write Spam, so I hope this passes...Well, it's not exactly Spam, just Spam themed humor, I s'pose. I dunno. If I'm inspired, I'll write more Spam someday. **

**I don't wanna go making promises, but maybe I could continue this - just miscellaneous one shots of all the times Sam has 'turned him up and shut him down' or whatever I said in her POV. Man I'm sleepy, so I'ma go to bed. G'night. **


End file.
